I complain, in that dig-digging inside-out way, at least 2.5 times too much, and I understand that more fully when I see a post like this one from Bridgette Guerzon Mills, who -- despite being flooded out of house and studio(!) some seven weeks ago -- continues a thoughtful conversation with and about her work ... in one sense following it, and in another looking forward to it, to when she can realize it with her hands and dreams once again.
People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m